


That's Not Us

by JenniferH



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 'That's not me' was about gender equality, ARYA AND GENDRY ARE MARRIED. PERIOD., Arya and Gendry were married at the end of season 08, Arya has some issues, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fingering, Gendry and Jon should be best friends, Gendry and Tyrion are fun to write together, Gendry is a real boy not just a rower runner or Arya's side piece, Here is it how it happened, There are flashbacks, We all know that Arya's knife at his throat would be a turn-on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27915271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferH/pseuds/JenniferH
Summary: Arya Stark is not a lady, but then Gendry Baratheon is not a lord. What they are... is family.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Bran Stark, Arya Stark & Jon Snow, Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Jon Snow & Gendry Waters, arya stark/gendry baratheon
Comments: 28
Kudos: 120





	1. GENDRY: Daring To Hope

**Author's Note:**

> The basis of Arya and Gendry being married I absolutely believe was 100% there in season 08. I actually wrote a very long post detailing all of the reasons why I believe so. You can find it [here: The Gendrya Wedded Belief](https://www.reddit.com/r/GOT_TheUnbroken/comments/jqek5u/the_gendrya_wedded_belief_repost/).
> 
> I originally posted this as one stand-alone chapter from an ongoing story that I am writing: [Dream of Spring](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332419?view_full_work=true). That story showcases a lot more characters, has a LOT of plot and is going to be quite long. Although, it isn't strictly just a Gendrya story, Arya and Gendry *are* the main characters, and are featured to minor or major degrees in just about every chapter.
> 
> However, another chapter featured enough sections in that with some editing that I felt I could give more of a conclusion to this one so I decided to make this one a multiple chapter fic. The thing is that this is from Gendry's point of view, and the chapter I'm including is from Arya's. THerefore in order to maintain a level of pacing that works for me, I've decided to break up the original story as posted here into 3 chapters that are from Gendry's point of view, while the new stuff will be from Arya's point of view. So... 
> 
> NOTE: IF YOU'VE ALREADY READ THIS BEFORE FEBRUARY 07, 2021 -- the first THREE chapters are NOT NEW! I don't want to mislead anyone. 
> 
> ___________________________________

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry reflects on what brought him back to King's Landing, and the hope that he can rectify mistakes he made with Arya.

**SO MUCH OF** the Red Keep had been destroyed and yet here he was in a room much more beautiful than in any he'd ever laid eyes upon. Nicer than the one at Dragonstone that the Red Witch had taken him to where she'd drugged him, used her beauty to seduce him, then tied him up and brought out the leeches. Not that he ever thought of that night as seduction. Although truth be told, he tried very, very hard to not think of that night at all. Gendry shook his head, banishing the thought of leeches near parts of his body they should never have been near ever, and of the Red Witch too, dead the morning after the Long Night.

Reaching out, he ran a hand along the bedpost and looked around. "Yes, this room is much nicer," he murmured.

It was also definitely nicer than Arya's bedchamber in Winterfell. That made sense. Staying in her childhood room, she hadn't changed anything about it and the little girl that Arya had been was as much a lady then as she was now, not much interested in silk and fine things. Walking to the bed, he ran his hand over the golden velvet curtains, tied back to the post, one at each corner. "Very nice. Nicer than Storm's End even."

He'd only been there one night. He had left Winterfell the day after he'd stupidly proposed to Arya without any thought in his head. He had been so drunk on the delirious joy of being on equal standing with her. "As if you'd ever been on equal standing with Arya Stark," he mumbled to himself as he took in the room again, thinking that same thought even now. And she had made that clear. He'd told himself over and over on the angry ride to his new home. Not that he was filled with anger at Arya. No, never her. It wasn't her fault that he was an idiot. He was angry with himself for daring to dream, daring to believe that she would ever love him, ever want to be with the likes of a bastard just because the queen had given him his drunken whore of a father's last name.

Upon arrival at Storm's End, he'd been greeted by a few of the lords of the Stormlands, Estermont, Morrigen, Swann, Grandison. Ser Richard Morrigen introduced himself as the current steward of Storm's End and offered his fealty and service, as did the others present. Lord Estermont was most enthusiastic about his legitimization and not concerned at all with his former bastardy. The elder nobleman had told him that without him the Baratheon bloodline was extinct, therefore he was just pleased to have a Stag once more roaming the realm, never mind the circumstances of his birth.

The group of them drank in the great hall, toasting to all of the wonderful things the new Lord of Storm's End would do. None of them appeared to notice how little drinking or toasting their new liege lord did, but they went to bed happy, so he supposed his first night as Warden of the Southlands was a success. The next morning while they lay sleeping off their wine, Gendry's clear mind and good rest allowed him to finally think about that night. The night that he had been given a last name belonging to one of the Great Houses of Westeros, a castle, and a wardenship. The night that he had asked Arya Stark to become his lady. And he realized where he had erred. And so foolishly.

He had asked Arya Stark, Lady Arya Stark, who had said it plainly when she first told him that she _was_ Lady Arya Stark that she wasn't a lady, to be his lady. What a fool he was. What a bloody, stupid fool. Arya Stark was no lady and she wouldn't want to be any man's lady, not even his. But his family? That was something else entirely. She had said that to him as well once upon a time. "I can be your family," she had told him, her eyes wide and full of tears. And he had said no because he couldn't be what she wanted.

And that was why she said no to him. Because she couldn't be what she thought he wanted. Because he had asked the wrong question. What a bloody, bloody stupid fool he was.

Now here he was in King's Landing, having left the lords of the South behind asleep in their beds with word to the castle's castellan to await further explanation. What that would be, he had no idea. And to be honest, he didn't care. All he cared about was Arya. She was the reason he was there in King's Landing. After all, she was the only reason he was alive and not dead like so many others, burned to death by the Dragon Queen on the Street of Steel. If it weren't for her, that's exactly where he would have been when Daenerys Targaryen let loose her dragon on King's Landing. He went with Davos for her. He joined Jon Snow and his cause for her. She had wanted him to serve her brother, the King of the North. It was a different brother he wound up serving, but it was the thought that counted.

He was here because of Arya and only Arya.

Gendry sighed and shook his head. That wasn't true. She wasn't the only reason that he was there now in the capital. He was also there to help her family and to help make the decision for Westeros which, yes, included her beloved North and Winterfell. He was also there to help that very same brother who had saved Westeros by killing the woman that he had loved. That very queen who had destroyed the Street of Steel and a good part of Flea Bottom where Gendry grew up.

And now as the Warden of the South… Gendry shook his head, the thought of that still completely unreal to him, but it was who he was, at least right now. And as long as he still had that power, he was going to help free Jon Snow. Yes, for Arya—because she loved her brother, but also because Jon was a good man. He had been a good king, and in the short time that he and Jon had spent together, he had been a good friend to him. A good friend, who had given him some very good advice.

  
**—FOUR MOONS BEFORE—**

Most men would be scared when a woman stands before them and tells them that she knows death. Most men would be scared when a woman calmly throws a dangerous weapon once, twice, three times, sending it whistling right past their ear with deadly accuracy with little expression upon their face. Most men were not Gendry watching that woman who just happened to be a fully-grown Arya Stark. She was the most beautiful, amazing, wonderful creature he had ever laid eyes upon. She had wanted him to come to Winterfell with her many, many, many moons ago. It had taken him the long road to get there. But here they both were. And he never wanted to leave her side again.

He worked hard on that weapon of hers she wanted. He wanted it to be perfect for her. As perfect as she was. And, Gods, was she bloody perfect. The fierce warrior that she'd been as a girl was still there, he could see it in the flames that she kept so intensely contained in the controlled way she walked, in her precise movements. He knew, he just knew, that when she struck, when she fought, when she was ready to release it, all of that heat within her would burn as brightly, as hotly as it ever did. She was born in ice but blazed with fire. All of it was just there under the surface. Under control.

It was late, all of the other smiths had gone to bed and now the dawn was breaking, Gendry had worked through the night and was still working on her weapon. And he was thinking of her, Gendry was always thinking of her. _Arya_ , his soul sang just as the metal did whenever he brought his hammer down upon the steel. Jon stopped by to see him. He didn't notice him at first, so caught up was he in the finishing touches of the weapon he was making for Arya. Finally, he looked up. He saw Jon. Jon was staring at him. He looked unsure, angry, confused. Gendry carefully set down his project. He figured that he knew why Jon was there.

"Arya talked to you," he said, and it wasn't a question. Jon had been good to him, but he'd never sought him out before. He may have no longer been the King of the North, but he was still a very important man.

"Yes." They were both silent, and then Jon burst out, not in anger, rather there was frustration in his tone. "Why didn't you tell me? Gendry, why didn't you tell me that you knew her? That you had traveled with her? And for so long! And it wasn't just you! It was Clegane and Beric Dondarrion. All of you!"

Gendry shook his head. "I can't speak for them. Just for myself." He sighed and looked around, wondering if Arya was going to suddenly, silently pop up as she had a habit of doing of late. When she didn't, he continued. "I thought she was dead. You know that the Brotherhood sold me to the Red Witch, and she took me to my uncle Stannis. I told you that." Jon nodded.

"After Davos freed me, I went back to King's Landing and I heard about," he paused, knowing that Robb Stark wasn't just Arya's brother, but Jon's also. Still, he dug in and carried on. "I heard about the Red Wedding. I knew that the Brotherhood was taking her to your brother. That was the plan. I didn't know if they'd gotten there before what happened or not. But I kept listening, kept waiting to hear word, anything about Arya and I never did."

Jon was silent, listening. "I hoped that she was alive, but, honestly, I thought she was dead. I didn't know how she could be alive. The Brotherhood would have ransomed her off to someone. They wouldn't have kept a lady of one of the Great Houses with them all that time. And yet her name never came up. We still heard about her sister, but never Arya. As far as I knew, you thought she was dead too. I didn't know what good it would do to tell you that I knew her when she was younger, to give you hope that she was alive when for all I knew she was dead. I think it was the same for the Hound and Lord Beric."

"Yes," Jon confirmed. "They both had similar reasons. Funny, though, you're the only one that Arya defended for not telling me." Jon took a step closer. "Why is that you think?"

Gendry looked down at the weapon and shrugged. "Dunno."

"I do."

He looked back up at Jon. "You do?"

"My name isn't Jon Snow."

Gendry shook his head, confused by the change in conversation and absolutely confused by what Jon Snow, or no, not Jon Snow, had just said. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"I just found out that my name is not Jon Snow, and that I'm not a bastard. Robb wasn't my brother, or Rickon. Not Bran. Arya and Sansa aren't my sisters. Because Eddard Stark wasn't my father. He was my uncle. His sister, Lyanna Stark, the woman that your father loved, was my mother. My father was Rhaegar Targaryen. And my mother loved him, not your father. She wasn't kidnapped by Rhaegar. She ran away with him, married him after he had his marriage to Elia Martell annulled and she bore him a child. Me. Your father, the whole of Westeros thought differently and after Robert Baratheon killed Rhaegar at the Trident and Ned Stark found his sister, she lay dying in childbirth. She made him promise to not tell anyone who I was lest Robert find out. He would have had me killed otherwise. And so my—and so my uncle told the world, including his lady wife, that he had lie with another woman and she had borne him a bastard son."

Gendry's jaw dropped midway through Jon's recitation and remained hanging open as he finished. He didn't know how to respond.

"Ned Stark called me Jon Snow, but that's not my given name. It is Aegon Targaryen. My—" he broke off and then cleared his throat and continued. "I was given the same name as the son of a wife he'd already thrown away. My uncle called me his bastard child and kept that secret his entire life, and Lady Catelyn hated me *her* whole life for his dishonor and never let me forget it."

Jon Snow, no, Aegon Targaryen looked steadily at Gendry. "I am the heir to the Iron Throne, not Daenerys Targaryen. She doesn't know this. She knows me still as Jon Snow. I don't know how to tell her. I don't know if I should tell her. I don't—I don't want it. I don't even want the damn thing. She does. More than anything." His gaze did not waver, and Gendry still did not know what to say. "What do you think I should do?"

Gendry shook his head. "Why? Why tell me this? Me? Why ask me?"

"Arya cares for you. Deeply. That is why she defended you and only you. She trusts you. I do as well. You proved yourself beyond the Wall, and… And Arya trusts you. That's enough. And I needed to tell someone who isn't involved in all of this." Jon, yes, he was still Jon Snow, whatever name he had been given at his birth, he, Jon turned from Gendry and began pacing. "What do I do?"

Gendry was still. He could tell Jon that he was in no position to answer his questions. He was just a bastard blacksmith, never mind who his father was. He'd never known love, not really. Yes, his heart was singing for Arya now, but was that love? He wasn't sure. Then Jon's pacing brought him face-forward again and Gendry realized that he didn't need to know love to answer. Because this wasn't about love, not the kind of love that was between a man and a woman. It was about pain and loss and family, and the love you have and yearn for when you have family or when you don't. And those were things that Gendry understood all too well. Besides in the end it wasn't his decision. Jon Snow would follow his own heart. More than anything, Gendry was just another voice that Jon needed to hear and weigh his options against, Gendry thought, but still he would add his to whatever chorus Jon was listening to.

"You love the queen?" He asked.

"Yes," was Jon's immediate reply.

Gendry took a deep breath. "Tell her the truth."

Jon nodded, and Gendry sensed that he had correctly supposed a moment ago. Jon didn't need to be told what to do. He just needed help believing that the decision he had already made was the right one. Reaching out, he clasped Gendry's arm. "Thank you." He turned to go, but then stopped and looked at Gendry. "Did you join me because of our fathers or because of my sister?"

Just as quick as Jon's answer was about his love for Daenerys Targaryen so was Gendry's response to Jon's question. "For Arya."

"Tell her. Tell her you're here at Winterfell not for me, not for dead men, but for her." Jon left the forge and Gendry looked up at the winter sky, grey with an oncoming storm. He closed his eyes, tiredness washing over him, thinking on Jon's words.

  
**—TWO MOONS LATER—**

Gendry opened his eyes, he was still looking at grey clouds, but now they were the grey from the ashes still left from the Dragon Queen's fiery rampage. He wondered if the advice he gave to Jon hadn't been nearly as good in return and might have been a part of what led to all of this. He may have a nice room in what was left of the Red Keep, but the view out of his window was devastating. He thought again of that conversation with Jon that wasn't that long ago but now seemed like a lifetime. His queen was dead, slain by Jon's own hand, and Arya had left Gendry behind in Winterfell after his stupid, drunken proposal. Nothing could save Jon's relationship with Daenerys Targaryen, but Gendry could maybe help save Jon's life.

Of course, he wasn't only back here in King's Landing to save Arya's brother. He was also here to make things right with Arya. His realization the morning after his night with the lords of the Southlands had given him hope. The door of his room opened and there she was. 

Arya.


	2. GENDRY: All I Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry decides he's ready to brave the waters again. Will Arya let him aboard?

**BEFORE HE COULD** say a word, she was in front of him, leaning up, her lips pressed against his. That he was not expecting, but he was happy to receive her kiss. His hope doubled, tripled. Taking her face in his hands, he savored the taste of her, the feel, the scent of her, of everything that was Arya. Gods, how he had missed her.

Stepping back, he gazed at her to take in the beauty of her face. For just a second or two longer, her eyes remained closed as if to appreciate the moment herself. And then they snapped open, her spine stiffened and the controlled fire that he loved so well settled deep within her, contained once more.

"Hello, Arya." He said softly, afraid to send her away before he could speak the words that had been running through his mind for days.

She smiled at him, a soft smile, full of gratitude. A good start. "I'm glad you're alive and she's dead. She can't hurt you. She can't hurt anyone I care about ever again."

At that he couldn't help himself, he grinned. "Did milady say she cares about me?" And as if she couldn't help herself either, the moment he said the word 'milady,' she smiled, but just as quickly gave a tart report, almost in anger, but he knew there was no heat in it.

"Don't call me that."

He laughed; his heart happy. He loved her. It really was as simple as that. He knew that now. She made him happy. Like no one and nothing else ever had. Leaning down, he kissed her again, his arms wrapped about her waist as he pulled her tightly to him, wanting to feel every inch of her pressed against him, never wanting to let her go. Gods, he loved her. Pulling away to gasp for breath, he began peppering her cheek, her jawline with kisses. She laughed, giggling against his throat, but then suddenly, she pushed him away and stepped back, her expression serious.

Suddenly there was a sick feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. _No_ , he thought, _I haven't said one word of my speech yet. She can't leave me._

"Gendry, I'm not going to Storm's End–" And her tone was so soft, filled with such love. She didn't want to hurt him, but it was OK because she didn't, she wasn't, not with those words. Instead, he felt an immediate sense of relief.

"I know. You're going to Winterfell where it's so bloody cold I'll freeze my balls off, but I don't care. If you're there so am I." That is what he had realized that night. So, Arya didn't want to be the Lady of Storm's End. That was perfectly alright with him. Then he wouldn't be the Lord of Storm's End. As long as he was with her.

She looked confused but took a deep breath and carried on. "Gendry, you don't understand. I'm not going North." And now it was his turn to look confused because she was right. He didn't understand. If she didn't want to be at Storm's End or Winterfell, where did she want to be? Certainly not here in King's Landing.

"I'm sailing West." _West? What's West?_ He thought.

"What's West?" He asked.

She shrugged. "Who knows?"

He opened his mouth but couldn't find any words to say. 'Who knows,' she said. He turned away and walked to the window. Outside, he could still see the ravages caused by all of the destruction that Daenerys had caused. This world they lived in was such a dangerous place and she was intentionally seeking more. He turned back to face her.

"You'll get killed! You do know that. By pirates or sea monsters or storms or–Arya…" He trailed off when she just stood there completely unmoved by his tirade. He closed and then opened his eyes. He took a deep breath. He shook his head and then just let it all go because… Arya. "Fine, West it is." He ran a hand over his short hair. "I've gotten used to being on boats. Don't like them much but a longer voyage, maybe I'll grow to like them."

"What? No, Gendry, you can't come with me!" She cried. "You're Lord of Storm's End." She moved closer to him, rattling off his titles, as if he didn't know the damn things. "Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Warden of the South. You have responsibilities–"

He cut her off. "–And I know fuck-all how to do any of it! I'm not a Lord! I'm a bastard blacksmith from Flea Bottom." Reaching out, he grabbed her hands and sighed. "I meant what I said that night. I don't care about any of it without you. I don't want a castle. I wouldn't even know what to do with one. And all of those people depending on me to take care of them? They'll be dead before the year is out." He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing her cheeks. "All I want is a family, and you, Arya Stark, you are my family. It took me years to figure that out, but I finally did and I'm not letting you go again. Not if you want me."

Her eyes were wide, her lips parted softly as she looked up at him, her heart staring straight at him. "Gendry–" Arya reached up and covered his hands with her own.

"Arry, please." He shook his head, not sure where the 'Arry' had come from. The little grin that appeared on her face told him it was the right thing to say. It was who they were, their past connecting them to their future. "I love you and I know that you love me, I know you do. I want to be with you. Just you, not some lady, but you."

She sighed. "I—Gendry…"

This was his chance. He was going to say the words. "Arya, whoever those fancy lords decide to become their next king, I'll go to him and say 'thank you, but no thank you,' you can take back this title and this castle and these lands. All I want is milady who isn't a lady and this name so when someday I put a babe in her belly, the child isn't a bastard."

She shook her head, but she was smiling. And she laughed. His lady who wasn't a lady, she laughed.

"Gendry," and she still held his hands that still cupped her face. And she still gazed deeply into his eyes. He knew that he had her. He knew. Gendry took a step back. He was giving up so much and he didn't care. She was worth it, worth it all, but on one thing he would not compromise. Stepping back, her hands fell from his as Gendry's arms dropped heavily to his side, as heavy as the emotion in his voice.

"Arya, you may not care, but you've never been a bastard. I have and it's a terrible life. Our children will bear the name of their father." She gave the tiniest of nods, so small that if he hadn't been focusing so intensely on her, he would have missed it. But he was and so he caught it.

"Gendry…" It was a game now.

"I'll stow aboard." He said as he took her hand in his, entwining their fingers and she was smiling again, a flirty tease in the curve of her lips.

"Stubborn bull," she groused.

"Yes." And he was smiling too, a wolfish grin, because he had her. She was his. There was no drink clouding his mind unlike the night of his stupid, clumsy proposal. She was going to say yes. This time.

Raising an eyebrow, she leaned in slightly. "You are one of those fancy lords who will decide the next king," she reminded him tartly.

Gendry snorted derisively, he was having fun now because he knew, oh, he knew, but then he shook his head once more, because, no, he wanted an answer. He wanted to hear her say yes. Determination settled on his features. "Then I'll be sure to cast a vote for one who will set me free."

Allowing vulnerability to run across her features, Arya looked at him, her expression open and honest. "I want to be free."

"I know," Gendry told her as sincerely and honestly as he could. "And we can be free together."

She shook her head. "I'm not a lady, that's not me."

Bending down, Gendry pressed a kiss to her lips, infusing as much of the feeling that he had for her into the action. Pulling away, he waited for her eyes to open and looked at her, deeply, thoroughly, sending every thought of love he possibly could and then he spoke slowly and clearly and definitively. "Arya, I don't want a lady. I want you."

Her face softened, and something inside of him tightened because it was Arya letting her walls down, vulnerable, the wolf showing her belly. His own expression softened. "And, Arya, I'm not a lord." Then he grinned. She raised a brow, as if she knew what he was going to say and as if daring him to continue, but he couldn't help himself. "That's not me."

Her lips pursed ever so slightly, her eyes cast downward and then flashed back up to him and then she said the word. The only word he needed to hear from her. "Yes."

He looked at her, his blue eyes piercing. "So, Arya, when do we leave?"

She reached up and kissed him softly again. Pulling back, it was a moment before her eyes opened. "As soon as you fancy lords choose a king who will take back your title and castle and lands."


	3. GENDRY: A Noble Man and His Lady in Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry keeps his name, and Arya accepts who they are.

**TWO DAYS LATER** and they had barely seen each other in the flurry of the arrival of the other rulers of Westeros, the discussion of the prisoners, Lannister and Snow, not to mention the continuing clean-up after the destruction wrought by the Battle of the Bells. There had been a few stolen moments, but few and momentary they had been. He had hoped to share his nights with her, but Arya had been with both her sister and brother, Bran, or helping search parties look for survivors. He had offered to help, but as Lord Paramount to the Stormlands, Warden of the South, he was much too important apparently to risk for such a mission. Instead, he had spent his time in the forge of the Red Keep working on a special project. It kept him busy. Otherwise, the fact that he was a man of such import would have had him doing nothing

At last his time of any matter to the kingdom of Westeros was near its end. He hadn't had to do much at the Dragonpit. Merely say the word, "Aye," when Lord Tyrion had proposed that Bran Stark be named the next king. Gendry had looked to Arya, she appeared fine with the decision and so "Aye" is what he said. If she approved, so did he. It didn't make much of a difference to him as they were leaving within the next moon anyway. And as the man would be his good brother soon enough, it would make it that much easier to do what needed to be done. Of course, his soon-to-be good brother's second act as the newly named King of Westeros then made that task even easier. He'd appointed Lord Tyrion Lannister as his Hand. The former Hand of the Dragon Queen owed Gendry a favor. And Gendry preferred taking care of this through his own merit rather than using his connection to the king because he was Arya's brother.

Once everyone assembled began to mill about and Lord Tyrion was unchained, Gendry headed toward him, beating the lady knight's squire, Pod, who was carrying a goblet of wine his way.

"Lord Tyrion, a word, if you wouldn't mind." Gendry said once he reached him.

The newly freed prisoner turned to face him, surprise on his face. "Might it wait until I've had some wine?" He looked to Pod and with a wide smile took the cup. "Thank you, Pod. I have missed you. Will you be staying here in King's Landing?"

"Lord Tyrion?" Gendry interrupted. He was quite anxious to get this done.

"Yes, Lord Tyrion, I believe so. I'll have to speak to Lady Brienne." Pod answered Lord Tyrion, although he kept casting looks Gendry's way. "Lord Baratheon," he nodded.

"Lord Tyrion?" Gendry tried again. "I'm sorry, but this is of some import."

The new Hand handed his cup back to Pod. "Would you mind? This appears to be empty." He faced Gendry. "A lord only a handful of weeks and already demanding things. You do learn quickly. I'm impressed, Lord Baratheon."

"No, it's not—it's not like that. I just—I need this done. Quickly."

Rolling his eyes, Lord Tyrion sighed and looked towards where Pod had gone, and then sighed again. Gendry glanced over and saw that the young man was caught in conversation with Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. Thank the Gods, he had the new Hand to himself now. "What is it then? I'm newly released from my chains. I don't see what I can do for you."

"Come now, Lord Tyrion. You were just named Hand to the King of Westeros. A king that you convinced everyone sitting here to put on the—" He broke off when he realized there was no more Iron Throne. "To rule."

"That I did." Lord Tyrion conceded. "So, what do you want, Lord Baratheon?"

"A favor from the new Hand of the king." Gendry smiled.

Lord Tyrion laughed. "And why should I do you a favor? Not even five minutes after the position was forced, yes, forced upon me."

Gendry scratched the nape of his neck where the back of his collar itched at his skin. Or maybe it was his nerves. "Well, I did save your life, didn't I?"

"Is that a question, Lord Baratheon?"

"Yes, I mean, no." Gendry was confused. Forget doing this on his own merits, he should have just made Arya do this once her brother was made king. Even if it hadn't been her brother, she would have done better than him with any of them. She wasn't a lady, but she knew how to talk to these nobles. He didn't. They always made him feel like he was stupid. He wasn't, not really. They just all thought they were better than him. Of course, they were. A fancy name and fancy clothes couldn't change that. He took a deep breath. None of that mattered, though. He had started this. He was doing it. For Arya, for their future. "I mean no. I did. I saved your life. We were with Ser Davos. You remember when we were leaving King's Landing for Dragonstone? There were those two City Guards. Pulled out my hammer and—

Lord Tyrion winced. "Yes, yes, I remember. What do you want? What can I do for you?"

Gendry took another deep breath. "I would like a private meeting with our new king. I need to speak to him about my future."

  
**HE WAS HUMMING** a wordless melody as he looked over the parapet onto the training ground. Arya wasn't there either. Gendry had spent the last three-quarters of an hour looking in all of the spots he thought she might be, asking everyone he could think to ask. He'd even found the courage to address the new Queen of the North. He may no longer be the Warden of the South and Paramount of the Stormlands, but he was still a lord, thanks to her brother. King Bran had insisted that he keep the title. For all that he had done in the fight against the Undead, he had earned the noble title, the new ruler of Westeros had told him

"Lord Baratheon, do you know what the definition of the word 'noble' is?" Lord Tyrion had asked him with a smile.

Shaking his head, Gendry looked at the smaller man. "Someone rich?" He guessed.

"No, it is not. Noble is the trait of showing fine personal qualities and having high moral principles and ideals." Walking over to Gendry, he patted him on the arm firmly. "Based on our brief acquaintance, I would say that you have lived up to those noble principles and ideals, so nobility undoubtedly suits you."

Surprised by the compliment, Gendry stuttered a quick, uncertain thank you, but then couldn't help but add. "I don't—I blackmailed you for a favor! To see—" Grimacing, he broke off and took a step back, looking to the expressionless man in the wheelchair, his soon-to-be good brother, and wanted to sink into the floor.

Lord Tyrion laughed. He turned to Bran. "I think I like him." He laughed again. "He thinks that was blackmail. A dastardly act of evil! Oh, you sweet summer child." Walking over to the king, he leaned down and spoke conversationally. "Methinks your sister is going to eat this one alive."

Standing up straight, Gendry suddenly didn't care that Tyrion Lannister was the Hand of the King, the richest and probably smartest man in all of Westeros. He didn't care that he was older and greater than him in every way possible. Lord Tyrion had no right to speak about him and Arya. No one did. For the first time since he'd entered the room, since he'd even spoken to the man, his voice was firm and sure. "You know nothing about me and Arya. You know nothing about Arya Stark."

Lord Tyrion's eyes widened. He nodded. "Fair enough. Before you walked into here requesting of our new king that he give you leave to walk away from the Wardenship of the South, the title Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Heir to Storm's End all so that you could marry his sister, Arya, the one they call the Bringer of the Dawn, the Princess who was Promised, I had no idea the girl even knew you. And in the eyes of the Seven, I am her good brother. We are family."

King Bran spoke after having been silent during most of their meeting. He looked straight at Gendry. "You can be my family."

All three men were quiet for a long moment. Something, something in his voice, the inflection, it was… different. It didn't sound like him. It sounded almost like… It was… a memory, tingling in the back of his mind.

"What of Storm's End, Your Grace?" Lord Tyrion interrupted Gendry's searching thoughts. "And who will be the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Warden of the South if not the young Lord Baratheon here? There was the period after Stannis died, but with things so unsettled nothing official was ever done and Storm's End has belonged to the Baratheon line since Aegon Targaryen bequeathed it to Orys Baratheon after the Conquest."

Finally the king turned his unnerving gaze away and spoke to his Hand. "There is another bastard who escaped Joffrey's rampage. His mother hid the child well. Waiting. Waiting for the right time. The time is now. A Baratheon will rule Storm's End for centuries to come." He looked back to Gendry. "It just won't be your line."

Gendry didn't know how to respond to that or even if he should. He decided it didn't matter. He had his freedom and a name. And he could be with Arya wherever she wanted to be and that was all he cared about. "Yes, Your Grace. Thank you." He bowed to them both as best as he knew now and backed away, ready to find Arya, ready to start his new life with her.

Near two hours had passed since he had left the king's private audience room, the sun just setting, and Gendry still hadn't found her. With frustration, he closed the door to her chamber and began the walk to his own. He wanted to get out of these clothes. Shed the skin of Lord Gendry Baratheon. Maybe just Gendry would have better luck finding Arya. It didn't take long to get there. She had arranged to have her room near his. The value of being revered from one side of the kingdom to the other had its benefits. She hated it, but she still used the power it gave her when it hurt no one.

Easing open his door, he was greeted with a most welcome sight. There she was. Arya Stark. His bride-to-be. She lay on his bed, curled up, naked as the day she was born. Her hair was undone, dark across the white pillow, her skin fair, a rosy tint blushing against the gold coverlet. He stepped closer, undoing the straps and buckles, ties and buttons of his jerkin, his boots, his pants, all the while his eyes never left her. By the time he reached the bed, he was as bare as she. Gendry sat down and the soft mattress dipped. Immediately, she woke with a start. Her eyes widened and her hand whipped under the pillow and out, her Valyrian dagger at his throat in mere seconds.

"Good eve, Gendry," she murmured with a smile and lowered the weapon. He raised an eyebrow. She shrugged. "One can never be too careful." Slipping the dagger back under the pillow, she reached up and slipped her arms around his shoulders. "Where were you?"

He pressed a quick kiss to her mouth. "Looking for you. I talked to your brother."

"I was here." He ran a hand over her belly, his finger tracing the scar, and then moved up to cup her breast. She offered up a breathy sigh. "What did you talk to Jon about?"

Feathering her nipple, he shook his head even while he concentrated on bringing her pleasure with his attention to her body. "No, not Jon. Our new king."

"Ohhh," she cried out softly. To his administrations or comment, he wasn't sure. He smiled and pushed her down. Bending over, he continued to twist the peak of her breast, while he took the other into his mouth, his lips, his tongue tasting her. She cried out softly, her hand running over his head, nails digging into his scalp. He softly bit down on the underside of her breast and then moved downward, kissing her flesh. "Gendry," she said his name, and then again and again. "Gendry, Gendry."

Her legs fell open and he settled there, his finger slipping into where it was wet and slippery between her thighs. In and out, his finger dove into her and he added another, stretching her before him. Gods, she was so beautiful. Bowing down, his tongue dipped into the pink folds and lapped up her sweet nectar.

"Fuck, Gendry! Fuck, fuck!" Arya's hips rose, a keening moan escaped her as her leg wrapped around his back, urging him onward. "Yes, yes, yes, please, please. Gods, yes." His nose rubbed against the little nub she had showed him, and then he licked in circles against that same spot and then up and down, fast and slow, licking circles and drawing lines again and again, over and over until she wasn't saying anything that made any sense, just moaning and crying and bucking in his arms. Suddenly she screamed, her entire body went still and then she began shaking until a deep sigh escaped her and she went limp.

"Gendry," she said softly. He looked up at her from between her thighs. There was quite a bit of clean-up still to do there.

"I'm not finished here, milady."

"Don't call me that." He laughed. She ignored him and airily waved a hand. "Well, carry on. Don't let me stop you, Gendry."

"Milord," he retorted before returning to the task at hand with pleasure. He ran his tongue from the bottom to the top of her cunt. She was delicious. Savoring her taste, he smiled and was about to take another sip when Arya suddenly stiffened and pulled her legs up, her knees pressed against her chest. She grabbed his chin.

"What do you mean, 'Milord?' You said you talked to Bran. I don't understand. Are you not—" She broke off and her hand dropped, the look on her face shuttered. "You're staying here in Westeros? You're going back to Storm's End." She angrily rose from the bed and reached for her top.

"What?! No. Arya." She was already half-dressed. "I'm coming with you. I love you! I don't want to be anywhere if I'm not with you." He got up and moved to her, but he waited for her to respond. She was so strong, so ready and willing to face any fight, any foe head-on but when it came to matters of the heart, she was more frightened than he could imagine. He didn't want to scare her off.

She let her pants drop to the floor. Turning to look at him, her expression was guarded, and she was silent for a moment. Some of the tension left her tiny frame. "Tell me then. What happened with Bran?"

"He said I was a nobleman. Said I had earned it by my actions beyond the Wall and in the fight against the Undead. He said that there was another of my father's bastards still out there that King Joffrey hadn't killed who could take Storm's End, become Warden, Lord Paramount, all of it. Said something about the Baratheon bloodline going on for generations there, but it wouldn't be mine. He said I could keep the name and the title." Gendry reached out and took her hands, holding tightly, his eyes beseeching. "I didn't think it mattered. I know that makes me a lord still. But you're a lady—"

"I'm not a—"

"Arya, for fuck's sake, you *are* a lady. You are Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell. You may not want to be one. You may not act like one. But you are. In name." She rolled her eyes and gave a huff, but he just looked at her. Finally, she nodded. "It's the same for me. I am Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End still. I don't really want to be one. I certainly don't act like one because I don't know how. But I am. In name. Don't you see?" He dropped her hands and cupped her face. "We're the same you and me. A lord and a lady, but not really."

Arya smiled. "It's not you."

Gendry nodded. "It's not me." She put her hands on his waist and leaned up, kissing him.

"It's us." She whispered.

He pressed his forehead against hers. "Yes."


	4. ARYA: A Little Drop of Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya makes a decision.

**GUARDS, SERVANTS, KNIGHTS** , lords and ladies of the realm, workers of all sorts everywhere you looked doing their best to repair the Red Keep after the destruction wrought by Daenerys Targaryen, Arya passed them all. She ignored them all too. It didn't make a difference. Despite the rain that fell in heavy showers, each and every one of them, no matter their station, stepped out from the cover even for just a moment or two to get a glimpse of the Slayer of the Night King, the Bringer of the Dawn, and now that it was known, the Scourge of House Frey.  
  
She hated it. Arya hated the attention, their eyes gazing at her, assessing her. Many of the commonfolk did so in awe, a little in fear. Meanwhile, most of the nobleborn looked upon her in disbelief, scarcely able to consider that a young woman, and such "a tiny thing," she'd heard whispered more than once, could have possibly defeated the greatest threat to the realm, nay all of humanity. More likely it had been her bastard brother, Jon Snow, the Dragon Queen's great love, who had protected them all by killing her, saving the realm once again. That made a much better story, after all. The whispers that he was Rhaegar Targaryen's trueborn son just made the tale even more believable.  
  
The Savior of the Realm was happy to let them imagine what they wanted. Give Jon the credit, it was fine by her. _If not by him_ , she thought with a smirk, knowing that the only person who would hate all the titles and attention bestowed upon them even more than her was her brother. As his name and accompanying visage appeared in her mind, her lips turned downward. _Jon_ , her heart cried out. She had said goodbye to him yesterday. Or so she had thought. They all had. Until the ship that was taking him to White Harbor had been attacked less than ten miles out. Fortunately, no one had been killed; Jon was fine and back in his cell.  
  
She wanted to keep fighting about his stupid punishment, his exile to the Wall that had been destroyed and was pointless now. This recent attack had enraged her, but Bran had guards watching the Unsullied and Dothraki ships now and Jon would be leaving in a week's time. There would be another goodbye. And she wasn't allowed to fight for his freedom anymore. Arya had fought and screamed and gone so many rounds, but Jon wasn't even fighting and had finally told her to stop. He had begged her to. So she had to stop.  
  
Arya stopped and stood still. Looking upwards, she enjoyed the bitter sting of the raindrops on her face for a moment. She welcomed the tiny pricks of pain. It was better that than the pain of losing her brother all over again. Giving a quick shake of her head, she looked down and strode forward. He was alive, and so was she. As was Sansa and Bran. Bran. He was on the agenda today. She needed to talk to her brother, not as her brother or even the new king of Westeros, but as the Three-Eyed Raven.  
  
"Whatever the fuck a Three-Eyed Raven is," she murmured to herself, turning towards the great hall. Arya shook off her capelet as she walked past the guards. Water still dripped from her hair and clothes, but she didn't imagine that Bran would mind. She looked around. The throne room was serviceable. In barely a moon's time, they had gotten rid of the rubble, repainted the scorch marks, and had hanged a Stark banner behind the dais. She had heard from Gendry who had heard from the Onion Knight that there were plans to install a Weirwood Tree for Bran somewhere, somehow. She supposed Tyrion Lannister would figure that one out. Arya rolled her eyes. Tyrion Lannister, her good brother technically, she supposed as she was in the South and his marriage to Sansa was still valid here according to some. At least that is what Sansa had told her. Better him than that fucker, Ramsey Bolton.  
  
"Hello, Arya."  
  
Bran wasn't alone. His new manservant, Jessup, she had learned his name was, rolled him in. A mute, one of the many victims of fucking Joffrey. Gods, she wished that were one on her list she had been able to kill herself. A shame that it wasn't really Sansa who had played a part in his death after all. That at least would have brought her some satisfaction, a Stark doing the deed. Either way, Joffrey was dead for which all of Westeros should be happy.  
  
And here sat another king, a much better one. Her little brother. _And wasn't that a fucking kick in the arse._  
  
"Bran. Or should I say 'Your Grace?'" To be honest, Arya wasn't sure which she would prefer to call him. He was so unlike the brother she remembered, thinking of him as the current ruler of Westeros made as much sense as thinking of him as the little boy she used to frustrate because she was so much better at archery and swordplay.  
  
"I am your brother, Bran is my name and it's what you've always called me," he said in that near emotionless tone of his as if reading her thoughts. And then, _well, fuck me_ , she thought, he smirked. "When others are around beyond family and the Small Council, you must address me as 'Your Grace,' 'Your Highness, 'Your Majesty' or 'King Bran.'" An eyebrow raised. "Protector of the Realm' is acceptable as well."  
  
She laughed. "So you're still in there. My brother and the Three-Eyed Raven co-exist after all."  
  
"Tyrion does seem to believe so."  
  
"Does he? Maybe I shouldn't hate him after all." Arya sighed and walked towards him, sitting on the top step of the dais so that she was eye to eye with him. King or not, he was still her little brother, and Arya had never been one for rules.  
  
"No, I don't think you should hate him," Bran responded. "He's a decent man. He's made mistakes, but his heart is good. He cares for our sister. He was ever innocent of any crimes against me or anyone in our family. His only crimes were of being unloved by his own family and being hated for being a dwarf and rising above it. He has made mistakes because of those crimes, but not because he is an evil man."  
  
Arya was silent. She wanted to take his word for it, and she knew that he saw things that no one else did, but she also knew that seeing things wasn't the same as feeling, experiencing them for yourself. It didn't mean that Tyrion wasn't evil, but it didn't mean that he was a good man either. Still, if both Bran and Sansa spoke on his behalf, she would let it lie. Perhaps there was one decent Lannister in the world. It was of no matter to her here and now.  
  
"I'm not here to talk of Lannisters. I'm here about Gendry."  
  
Bran nodded.  
  
"He's giving up all that Daenerys Targaryen gave him to be with me. You found another of King Robert's bastards to take Storm's End, become Warden of the South and all of that." She took a deep breath, knowing that if she didn't like the answer that she was going to leave Gendry behind. It would break his heart, but it was for the best, for him. She met Bran's gaze, her own beseeching. "Is he a good man or are we going to come back to Westeros and find the Stormlands and its people suffering? If that happens, Bran, I can't do that to Gendry. He would blame himself. He would hate himself and be miserable with guilt."  
  
She rose to her feet, and looked around the throne room, noticing from this angle that there were banners from the other regions—the Westerlands, the Vale, the Reach, the Riverlands and the Stormlands. Arya turned back to face her brother, the king, the Three-Eyed Raven.  
  
"Gendry cares about doing the right thing. I know he said he'd give it all up for me, and it doesn't matter because he thinks he doesn't deserve it. He thinks a bastard like him doesn't know the first thing about ruling anyway, but Bran…" She moved back to the dais and knelt before him. "He's a good man. I know that with the right people by his side he would be a good lord, a great lord. He would do so good for his people." Arya rose to her feet and moved to stand before the Stormlands banner. "He could be as great a lord and warden as father." She looked back to Bran. "That's the kind of man that Gendry is."  
  
Returning to his side, she sat back down, and met his gaze. "So tell me about this new Baratheon heir."  
  
"He will rule well in time." Arya looked down in dismay. "Arya?" she looked back up. "He is young with his own difficult journey ahead. Regardless, he belongs in the Stormlands, and I can't tell you how Gendry would have been as Lord and Warden in his place because I can't tell you a future that won't happen. Just one that will. Edric Baratheon is a good man. He will do what is right by the Stormlands, and Gendry will do what is right in his own life. Arya, it is his choice to decide. It is not yours. Trust me when I say he is choosing the right path."  
  
Bran looked steadily at her. "It is a path that was set into motion years ago by father."  
  
Shaking her head, Arya's eyes widened in surprise. She found herself without words at first before finally she spoke plainly. "What do you mean? True, Gendry did meet father, but they spoke briefly, and he only asked about his mother. That's how father knew he was King Robert's bastard. Gendry told me about it long ago when we were still with the Night Watch recruits."  
  
Bran smiled. "You know our father. It's because he recognized that Gendry was Robert Baratheon's bastard that Gendry's path was set. Once Robert died, father was betrayed and arrested, he believed that it was likely that any threat to Joffrey's legitimacy would be eliminated. Lord Varys knew that our father was an honorable man and did what he could to help him while still keeping himself safe of course."  
  
"Of course," Arya murmured, her mind lost in the memories of those last few days. "I recognized his voice, you know, Lord Varys. When he came to Winterfell. I told Jon, but he told me what was in the past was past and we were fighting a greater battle, one for all of humanity. But I recognized his voice from the crypts under the Red Keep. He was one of the men plotting, talking about lions and wolves and dragons. I knew father was in danger, but I didn't understand it all, couldn't keep it straight in my head. I tried to tell him, but father didn't believe me. He thought I was making things up…" She trailed off, tears filling her eyes.  
  
Ever since Sandor had given her the gift of life, releasing her from the surety of death that would follow her execution of Cersei Lannister, emotions, and inevitably tears, had come much easier to her. It was fucking annoying.  
  
"He understood, Arya." Bran assured her. "He understood all too well, he just didn't want to worry you anymore than you already were. Varys wasn't a danger to father. At the end, he was the closest thing to a friend that our father had. That was something you couldn't have understood. You were a child, his child, and he wanted to protect you."  
  
Her eyes shut, a heavy breath escaping her as those damn tears streamed down her face. "Of course he did." Furiously, she wiped them away.  
  
"And he wanted to protect Gendry too. While he lay chained up in his cell in the Red Keep, he was not only thinking of how he could protect you and Sansa, but he also wanted to protect Robert's son, that innocent boy. So he asked Varys to reach out to Yoren—"  
  
"Oh," Arya sat up straighter. "It wasn't Tobho Mott selling him for no reason at all! Gendry did nothing wrong."  
  
"No, Yoren was supposed to bring not only you to Winterfell, but Gendry as well where he could be safe, free from Cersei and Joffrey's wrath. There he could finish his training as a blacksmith under Mikken's tutelage. Fate had different plans, and Gendry took the long road, but he was always meant to find his way to Winterfell and you. It was what father wanted."  
  
"The long road…" she murmured, thinking back to the night, *that* night. The night where she gave herself to Gendry. She had wanted to know what it was like, true, but really, she had wanted to know what it would be like with Gendry. When he had come to her with the weapon that he had crafted, he had said those words to her. "The last time you saw me, you wanted me to come to Winterfell, I took the long road," she repeated them softly to herself.  
  
And it was a long road indeed. The Red Wedding, the Red Woman, Sandor Clegane, Stannis Baratheon. He hid in plain sight back in King's Landing while she trained across the Narrow Sea in Braavos. She made a choice at the Crossroads Inn, and he made the choice to leave the Street of Steel. There were so many twists and turns that had led them both to Winterfell years later. To each other.  
  
They had lost each other once. She wouldn't let that happen again. Who knew what twists and turns could happen in the coming years, moons, days even? Arya wasn't going to waste a moment safeguarding their future. He was hers and she was his.  
  
She looked to her brother, the most powerful man in all of Westeros. He could get things done. "Bran, will your royal duties allow you freedom this afternoon?" He looked up at her and nodded. "And your Grandmaester? We'll need him." He nodded again. She grinned. "I have to say this whole brother being a king thing is nice."  
  
Walking to the window, Arya looked Northward and seemed to change the subject, but her mind was set and it was all of the same. "The Weirwood tree you sent for? That's in the royal wood, not too far North from here, yes?" Once more he nodded, a slight smile now curving his lips. Hurrying out of the room, she stopped suddenly. Arya turned back to Bran. "One more thing, Jon." She narrowed her eyes, a burst of anger suddenly filling her, and her tone reflected the same emotion. "I know, he's still a prisoner—"  
  
Bran looked at her. "Yes, he is a prisoner until it's time for him to leave," his tone showed a complete lack of emotion. _Fucker. You're my little brother, but still… fucker._. "Despite what happened. I have kept him here as long as I did because you and Sansa are still here. I wanted him to have as much time with his family as possible. Greyworm and the remaining Unsullied and Dothraki still want his head as made clear by the attack on his ship. They won't leave until Jon has been sent to the Wall—"  
  
"Yes, yes, I still don't think…" She trailed off as he remained absolutely stoic. Arya sighed. She wasn't going to argue this anymore. Remembering her promise to Jon, she instead thought of the decision she had made and held onto the one important thing that Bran had said. _Family._ She wanted to be only happy for the moment. No dark thoughts.  
  
"Right, family. Well, perhaps it was a blessing from the Old Gods and New that Jon's departure was delayed and that he's still here now. Today." Arya looked Bran square in the eye, wanting him to know she was serious. "I want Jon free for the afternoon. Can you manage that? Or are you worried that despite all your resources you might not be able to slip him past Greyworm and his band of Unsullied and Dothraki sulking in their ships or drinking and fucking themselves senseless?"  
  
"Arya—" The stoicism slipped just the slightest. Even the Three-Eyed Raven could be thwarted by the annoyance of an irritating sister.  
  
"I'm going to wed Gendry today. I want my brothers there. Both of my brothers."  
  
Bran and even Jessup looked to the windows where rain still poured from the skies. Bran looked back at her and just as he raised a brow, a thunderous clap cracked in the air.  
  
"I don't care. I'm getting married today." Arya stared expectantly at her brother. "Bran? Jon?"  
  
Casting another glance at the window, Bran sighed. Another crack of thunder and a flash of lightning followed. He looked at Arya. She hadn't moved. He nodded. "I'll have Tyrion make the arrangements—" He held up a hand before she could speak. "He won't be there. Just family."  
  
Arya slowly turned around and left the great hall. A smile lit her face. "I'm getting married today," she whispered to no one.

  
**IT HAD LIGHTENED** up a bit so that one couldn't say it was raining heavily, but it was still raining. Gendry leaned against the window frame.  
  
"Can we not wait until tomorrow? Or the next day? Any day when it's not like this?" He held his hand out the window and when he brought it back in, it was wet. He laughed.  
  
Arya continued searching through the trunk that Sansa had sent her a fortnight ago upon finding out about her betrothal to Gendry. It might not be her usual style, but she was going to wear a gown for her wedding. She had looked through it the day it had arrived, but only casually as she and Gendry hadn't decided upon when they would wed. However, one particular dress had caught her eye. She only hoped that it would come close to fitting her.  
  
"Arya? Arya? Arry, are you listening to me?"  
  
Sitting back on her haunches, Arya looked up at him. "Yes, I'm listening. I understand that it's raining, but why does it matter? It's just water. It won't hurt us." She rose to her feet and crossed over to him. "Gendry, we're leaving soon. We have so much to do and I would rather concern myself with those details rather than when we're going to get married."  
  
He stepped back. "Oh, it's a concern now?" A flash of hurt darkened his face.  
  
"Don't do that. I don't mean it like that. I want to be married with my family present. I want Jon and Bran and Sansa there. You know that Greyworm hasn't left King's Landing, not him nor the Unsullied and Dothraki either. They're waiting until Jon leaves for the Wall. Until he's gone, they're a threat. So the longer that he stays here, the more dangerous it is. We need to get married sooner rather than later."  
  
Gendry nodded. Seeing that his feelings were soothed, she returned to the trunk and still looking for the preferred gown, continued explaining the rush to wed now.  
  
"And I don't want to get married during our journey. I want to be wed here in Westeros in front of a heart tree. I am a Northerner. Of course," she rolled her eyes, "since I *am* the princess of the Six Kingdoms too and you're a lord of the Southlands, we'll include the vows of the Seven in our ceremony."  
  
"Of course, my princess."  
  
"Shut up," She automatically replied as she dug deep amidst the fabric and looked up at her husband-to-be. "If rain falls down upon our union, I'll consider it a cleansing of the filth and blood of everything that has come before us."  
  
"Well, since rain *will* fall down upon our union as we're doing it today it's a good thing then."  
  
"Yes!" She cried out, glancing down and seeing the very dress that had captured her fancy when she had first seen the collection that Sansa had brought for her.  
  
"What?" Gendry stepped forward.  
  
Arya smiled, a beaming smile, and she realized that she absolutely loved feeling happy. She remembered what a happy child she had been growing up at Winterfell. There were so many days after her father's death when she truly believed that she would never know happiness again. Arya wanted this feeling to last.  
  
"I've found my wedding gown." She pulled it out, carefully holding it to her chest and turned from Gendry so he couldn't see it. She wanted to surprise him. He had only seen her in a dress once and that was when she was a girl still. They had stopped at Acorn Hall while with the Brotherhood Without Banners, Lady Smallwood had forced her to bathe and put her in a dress covered with acorns. Gendry had laughed so hard when he'd seen her that wine had come out of his nose. She didn't think he would laugh this time.  
  
Realizing she'd never answered his question, Arya looked past him to the rain which had begun to fall harder again, she couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, I think the rain is a good thing. Very good." Heading out, she threw him another radiant smile. Today she would become his wife. To think that when he had first asked her the idea had terrified her. Now, it filled her with joy. _I will be his_ , she thought. _He will be mine_.  
  
"I have to go talk to Sansa and Jon. You get something nice to wear." Opening the door, she stopped, thinking. "What about what you wore at the Dragonpit? I'd prefer to have a nice memory of you in that." Arya walked out and then remembered something else. She poked her head back in the room. "You should probably let Ser Davos know about the ceremony. It shouldn't be only my family there."  
  
She was off again, rushing down the hall towards her sister. So much to do, so little time.


	5. ARYA: I'm A Northerner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya invites Jon to her wedding... and somewhere else.

**THE RAIN WAS** coming down hard when she entered Jon's cell. His eyes lit up when he saw her and he rose to his feet, enveloping her in a big hug. She returned it with a smile.

"Not that I'm not happy, but I did see you this morning. Why are you back so soon?" He asked.

Arya turned to him. "I'm getting married."

Raising a brow, Jon sat back down, a hint of confusion shading his features. "I know that."

"I mean, today," Arya laughed, a giddy joy bubbling up within her. "Gendry and I are getting married today. This afternoon."

Jon did look surprised then, and then disappointed. Arya rushed over to his cot and sat down beside him. She thought she knew why he was upset. Thinking back to what things were like in Winterfell when he found out about her and Gendry, how he found out, how she had acted, she wanted to explain.

"Jon when you found out that I was with Gendry I was a right cunt about it. You have to understand it wasn't you. It was all of the fucked-up shit that I had gone through. I haven't told you about it and, really, I don't want to. "

"Arya," he reached out and mussed her hair just like he had when she was a little girl, "don't worry about it. It's in the past."

"I just want to tell you that you didn't change, Jon. Not you. I said that, but you were still the brother who was always my favorite."

He smiled, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper as if imparting a secret. "You were always my favorite too."

Arya laughed, but her laughter faded because she wanted, no, she needed to tell him some of her truth. "Jon, after father died, I kept losing people," she reached up and wiped a falling tear away. "So many people," and her voice that once she had been able to keep so steady and emotionless, shook with the ache of the losses. "I wanted people to pay for the wrong they did. I wanted vengeance and that became my only reason for living."

"Arya," his voice was filled with sorrow. His heart was breaking for her, she could hear it in just the two syllables of her name and that broke her own heart just a bit.

"I lived for death, Jon. Even after coming home to Winterfell and seeing my family, and Gendry," she shook her head. "It didn't matter. I still lived for death. But Sandor Clegane, he helped me see the light."

"The Hound? You're talking about the Hound?" The shock in Jon's voice was as incredulous as the wide-eyed expression on his face.

She nodded. "Yes. I went to King's Landing to kill Cersei Lannister. He went to kill his brother. Gregor Clegane had always been the only name on his list." Arya looked away, her mind cast back to that day, the Red Keep falling apart around them, Sandor speaking his truth, the love he did feel for her evident in every word. She turned back to Jon. "When we were there in the moment, revenge at hand, he told me to turn back. Said that he had lived his life for just this and look where it had got him, I shouldn't, he said, I couldn't do the same. I still had a chance to live. So I did it, Jon. I let it go. I walked away and I decided to live."

Tears filled his eyes and he reached out, taking her face in his hands. "I'm happy to hear that. More happy than you can ever know." Jon pulled her into his arms, kissing the crown of her head. "I'm so happy," he whispered.

Arya buried her head in the crook of his shoulder and allowed herself a good cry, a happy cry. Finally, she pulled away. "Damn tears," she said with a shaky laugh. "Ever since that moment, I keep finding reasons to cry. Such a stupid girl."

He laughed and wiped at the tears on his face. "Then what am I?"

"My brother. And that's why I'm here." She cleared her throat and rose to her feet. "As I said I'm getting married today. Bran had a Weirwood tree brought in from the North, so it's not Winterfell, but at least there's that. It's planted in the royal forest about a mile North of the Red Keep. That's where we'll have the ceremony."

"Arya?" He got up and walked to the window. "It's raining. It's been raining all day. I don't think it's going to stop by this afternoon."

"And?"

"Doesn't matter to me, I suppose—"

"No, it's my wedding," she interrupted.

"I'll be safe and dry in here," he finished.

"What?! No, you won't. You're coming to the wedding. I already asked Bran. Well, told him. He's the king, we'll sneak you out. I wanted to let you know and.." She trailed off when a huge smile broke out on his face. Arya placed her hands on her hips. "Jon Snow, did you actually think I was going to get married without you there?"

"I did," he admitted bashfully. "That's why I was upset when you told me."

Walking over, she punched him on the shoulder. "That's just stupid." She punched him again for good measure and he winced. "Someone will be down shortly with a bath and change of clothes." Arya paused. "Before I go, there was one other thing…"

"What is it?" Jon peered out the window again. "It's raining really hard, Arya."

"You could come with us." Her voice was quiet.

He turned to look at her, his eyes wide. "Arya…" He shook his head.

Rushing towards him, she grabbed his hands, her words coming out in a flood. "It would be easy. We could sail to White Harbor and meet you there, sneak you aboard the ship as one of the crew. No one would know. And you wouldn't be stuck up on a Wall that has no bloody use anymore. You would be free—"

"No!" Jon pulled his hands loose and walked away, his shoulders stiff. "I can't."

"Why not?" Arya cried out. "What is up there for you at a broken Wall?" She pulled at his arm and turned him to face her. "We've been separated for so many years, but now we can go on this grand adventure together. And you like Gendry. It could—"

"I said 'no,' Arya." This time his voice was low, but just as firm.

Closing her eyes, she squeezed them tight, determined not to cry. She succeeded and moved to his cot, sitting down. Her voice was calm. "Please tell me why not."

"Because I'm a Northerner. I belong in the North." He said it so simply.

She scoffed. "I'm a Northerner. Just because I'm going on a journey doesn't make me any less of a Northerner. I plan on coming back. And when we do, Greyworm and the others will be gone, and Bran can pardon you. Then you can actually be in our North, not beyond the Wall." He sighed, and she raised a brow. "I'm not an idiot. I know you're going beyond the Wall, not to the Night Watch. There is no fucking Night Watch anymore."

"Ghost, and Tormund, the Freefolk are beyond the Wall." He ran a hand through his curls, now unbound like when he was younger and moved to sit beside her. "Arya, the North is in my blood. I can't leave. I don't want to. It's not that I don't want to spend more time with you, I'd just be too homesick. You've spent enough time away from the North that you can imagine life away, but I can't." He nudged her lightly with his shoulder. "It's not me."

She laughed. "It's not you."

"Tell me," he asked and Arya looked at him. "Why don't you and Gendry go North. If he doesn't care about being Lord of Storm's End and all that, why not go North? I know that it's as much in your blood as it's in mine. You've been away a long time and you've just come home, so why not go back now? I know it's not Sansa. You two are good."

Arya sighed and stood up. She walked to the window and looked out. "Still raining."

"Yeah, it's not going to stop. You're going to have a wet wedding." She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him, shrugging. He smiled back. "You could have it indoors."

Leaning against the window frame, she shook her head. "Weirwood tree. I want to wed with the traditions of the Old Gods too. So outdoors, it is." She brushed her jerkin and then grinned. "I'm wearing a dress for my wedding. Gendry will call me beautiful."

Jon's smile grew. "So will I. So would have father. And Lady Catelyn." His smile faded; his expression was solemn. "Why not go North?"

"Because I'm not Arya Stark in the North. I wouldn't even be Arya Baratheon. I'm the Bringer of the Dawn. The Slayer of the Night King. The Scourge of House Frey. Now it's—"

"Did you really do that? House Frey?" He stood up.

She sighed. "Yes, and no, I'm not going to talk about it. Not now. Not today. There are all these titles, they're even saying I'm the Princess that was Promised which is ridiculous. I'm not. I was just trying to save Bran, to save all of us. To do my part."

"And you did."

"And so did you, and Sansa, and Bran, and Sandor and Beric Dondarrion and Gendry and, and…" She broke off and looked sadly at him. "And Daenerys Targaryen. And so many others, and a whole lot of them died, and yet, I'm the one who people are cheering for and giving these stupid, grand titles to and writing songs about that are being sung in taverns across all of Westeros. And it's absolutely the worst in the North." She shook her head. "I can't, Jon. I just can't."

"What can't you do?" He asked, his voice soft and searching.

"Live! I'm trying to figure out who I am if I don't expect to die every day. And I can't do that when everywhere I turn, I have people looking at me like I'm some kind of hero. I'm not. That's not me."

Jon nodded and then asked the one question she wasn't ready to answer. "Who are you?"

Smiling, Arya shook her head. "I don't know. Not yet, that's what I want to find out." She smiled, a wistful one, and then she took a deep breath. "I have to go back to Sansa now. I dropped my dress off earlier and she's working on it. But I promised I'd return shortly. I believe it's shortly now."

Arya headed to the door. She stopped for a moment, considering her next words. She turned to look back at Jon. "Today at the ceremony, Jon, I know it's still hard. I know it hurts, but please, be nice to Sansa. She was doing what she thought was best for the North."

Jon waited a beat and then offered a tight smile before nodding. "I know. I will."

Opening the door, Arya paused once more and then ran back to give him another hug. "I'll see you soon, brother."


	6. ARYA: Today I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya sees herself differently with the help of Sansa. Ned would approve.

**"LET'S TAKE A** little break before we put the finishing touches on your gown," Sansa said with a smile, as she rose to her feet. "I have something for you."  
  
Arya turned from the glass to look at her sister. Sighing, Sansa picked up a box from the bed. "Don't get too excited. When I began making this second one, I thought you would like to have more than one with your soon-to-be lord husband's colors even if you were at Winterfell, but now that you're going West, no one, not even Bran, knows what the weather will be like. So…"  
  
Stepping down from the stool, Arya still eagerly reached for the box. She headed to the bed and sat down with it.  
  
Sansa twisted her hands as she moved to her sister's side. "You may not need the first one, let alone a second." Arya pulled out the capelet that was the same style as what she had worn upon her return to Winterfell, that one in the colors of House Stark. This material, like the coat that Sansa had gifted her with shortly after she had learned of her betrothal, bore the Baratheon colors, black leather with golden fur. "You would have preferred something else?" Sansa asked.  
  
"No, I love it. I have such freedom of movement with this style, and the colors are beautiful." She stood up, holding the capelet in front of her and then ran over to the glass, pulling it on over her wedding gown. Spinning around, she grinned with delight. "Thank you, Sansa. Having more than one representing both my father and my husband is good."  
  
"I'm glad you feel that way." Releasing a quick breath of relief, Sansa smiled as she rose to pull it off Arya's frame and place it back in the box. Sighing, she gestured to the stool. "Alright, then, let's get to it. Your wedding is almost upon us, we have to get this dress finished. Back up on the stool."  
  
Arya did as she was told and Sansa knelt before her, needle and thread in hand. "This shouldn't take much more. I just have to take in the hem, and we're done."  
  
Twisting slightly in front of the glass, Arya inspected the seams on either side of the dress. She couldn't tell at all where her sister had sewn in the extra material, the stitches were so tiny and even. Heaving a sigh, she thought of Septa Mordane and how she had always praised Sansa's needlework and lamented Arya's. Seeing the handiwork right before her eyes, she could understand the Septa's approval.  
  
"Stop moving. I need you to stand perfectly straight while I finish this up. I know you don't care what you look like in general, but this is your wedding day." She lowered her voice, but Arya still heard her. "Why you've chosen today of all days, I have no idea."  
  
Rolling her eyes, Arya maintained her still form. "Why is everyone so afraid of a little rain?"  
  
Sansa sat back and looked up at her younger sister. "Because you want to wed before the heart tree. The heart tree that is outside. In the rain, Arya." She shook her head and then bent back down to finish the task at hand.  
  
"I want to get married today."  
  
"Why today? What's so special about today?"  
  
"Nothing. I just…" Arya trailed off, chewing on her lip. She looked ahead into the glass before her gazing into her reflection, thinking. It was true that she wanted to wed before they left Westeros. It was also true that she wanted to wed before Jon was sent away and that was going to happen sooner rather than later. And she had decided that she wanted to make things official between them now. But why today, why couldn't she wait until the skies cleared and the sun came out? It was a good question.  
  
"I'm afraid something might happen," she whispered. She spoke so quietly that Sansa didn't even hear her. The joy she had felt when she saw Gendry earlier felt like a dream. Of course it did. Happiness always did, fleeting and ephemeral. Ever since her father's head had come off that day at Baelor's Sept, nothing good had lasted. It had been a full moon now since she had agreed to become Gendry's wife, and it had been the longest period of contentment she had known since her childhood.  
  
Sansa rose to her feet. "Did you say something?" Before Arya could answer, her sister smiled as she looked her over. "You look lovely, very pretty."  
  
Turning to look at Sansa, Arya blinked a few times, trying to rid herself of the ridiculous tears that had begun to water in her eyes. "I'm afraid that something may happen. So I want to marry Gendry now. Today. I want him to be mine. Now." She laughed and wiped her face dry. "You and I both know that we can count on nothing to go as one plans. So today."  
  
"Oh, Arya!" Reaching out, Sansa moved closer and wrapped her in an embrace, holding onto her tightly. She pulled back and smiled at her. "Then a rainy wedding you shall have." Sansa stepped back once more and behind her, pointing to the glass. "Look at you. What a beautiful bride you'll be."  
  
Arya heeded her sister's command. She had let down her hair, brushing it more today than Arya had in the last week, pulling back strands on either side and pinning them atop her head with a small cluster of baby winter blue roses, leaving the rest to fall loosely. Her cheeks and lips were pink against the fairness of her skin, rosy with anticipation. Her eyes were bright, the grey shade looking more like blue thanks to her gown. It was a pale blue, almost like ice, several layers of gossamer silk created a swirling confection around her legs, while a heavier silk molded around her waist and bosom before the gossamer layers crisscrossed over her shoulders to fall away in long swathes of darker blue material floating behind her.  
  
Looking at herself like this, garbed as the beauties of Westeros often were, she was suddenly reminded of a conversation she had once had with her father many years before. He had told her that she reminded him of his sister, Lyanna Stark, that she even looked like Lyanna. It had startled Arya, she who had been bullied by her beautiful older sister and her friends, told often how ugly she was. It had startled her because, as she had pointed out to Ned, Lyanna was beautiful. Gendry's father had even gone to war over Lyanna. Ned hadn't dismissed his sister's beauty but had confirmed it. He had told Arya that Lyanna was indeed beautiful. "Beautiful and willful." Ned had also said of her aunt that she was, "dead before her time."  
  
"That won't be me," Arya said softly, she knew what to say to death. "Not today." She reached out a hand and lightly touched the glass, her fingers caressing the image of her face. "But today, today I am beautiful."  
  
"Yes, you are."  
  
Arya looked up and met Sansa's eyes in the mirror. "Thank you."


	7. ARYA: Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya becomes his and Gendry becomes hers.

**THEY STOOD IN** a wooded area before a heart tree near a churning lake, and where the sun peeked through the falling rain and upon the water, its color matched the pale blue of her gown. Over that, she wore a pale grey cloak, lined with ivory. Just as she had thought, when Gendry first saw her, there had been no laughter. His eyes had widened, his lips parted, his breath caught, and at the reverent adoration on his face as he gazed at her, Arya felt the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros, all of Planetos even. Gendry wore Baratheon black, Stark direwolf gashes struck against each shoulder, a heavy cloak, ebony fur with a golden lining, across his shoulders. Above them were high dark branches, the verdant leaves protecting them from the downpour, and beneath them was wet, green grass cushioning their movements.

She missed her parents, her brothers who were no longer with her, even Sandor who she thought would have liked that she found happiness with that 'blacksmith cunt' after all, but that Gendry was hers and she was his was enough to bring joy to her heart. There were no flowers, no decorations, but the wooded landscape surrounding them was glorious even with water dripping from every leaf and branch, and article of clothing that every guest wore. Still, it was the perfect setting for the happiest day of her life.

Sam nodded towards Jon and he stepped forward. He kissed the crown of Arya's head and gently removed the Stark cloak from her shoulders. She breathed a sigh as the cool rain fell upon her, refreshing and delightful. Then the coolness started to become more than cool but rather cold. And then Gendry removed his cloak and lay it upon her. Immediately she was enveloped in his warmth and the scent of him. Arya felt safe and protected; she felt loved. Arya looked into Gendry's eyes, their voices rising above the heavy rain.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his, and he is mine from this day until the end of my days."

As they pledged their vows, Jon's former brother of the Night Watch, Samwell Tarly, the new Grandmaester, stepped forward and joined their hands together with white ribbons. Arya smiled as the connection between them came closer and closer to completion. As one they turned to face Sam, his words naming her Gendry's wife. A burst of joy filled her and in the next moment she was in his arms; everything else faded away. It was just she and him. His palm cupping her cheek, his lips on hers, his soft breath caressing her face. _I am his_ , she thought. _He is mine_.

A clap of thunder broke into her romantic reverie and they broke apart. She met his smiling gaze, and they turned to face their family. These people who loved them enough to stand in the pouring rain for this ceremony. Her brothers, Jon and Bran, her sister, Sansa, and Davos Seaworth, a man, like a father to Gendry, her husband. Arya beamed with happiness.

Sam came up behind them, his voice raised to boom over the rain that was beginning to fall even harder now. "Your Graces, my lord, Jon, we stand here in the sight of gods and a lot of rain to witness the union of husband and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." He waited a moment and then looked to Arya, "Lady Baratheon, I suggest *now* we go back inside."

She stood still for just a few heartbeats longer, struck by the fact that she had just been called Lady Baratheon. Arya was on the verge of telling him not to call her 'Lady,' and giddy at the prospect that she had just been referred to as Gendry's wife. She decided this once to let it slide.

"Yes, let's."

**—ONE MOON LATER—**

Arya Stark Baratheon stayed on the bow of the ship until Westeros was barely visible in the distance. Although she knew that Sansa, Jon, and practically everyone in Westeros who knew of her plans thought she was making a dreadful mistake, Arya was content with her decision. Had Gendry not joined her, she might have been having doubts, but he was here so, no, it was the right choice. West of Westeros was waiting to be explored. Something, someone was out there. And she knew that Bran wouldn't have given her his blessing if he didn't see a safe return on the horizon.

"Milady?" Her ship's captain came up to her, hat in hand. She sighed. Yes, she would have to break him and the rest of the crew of that. She had no idea how long this voyage would last, and she wasn't going to be dealing with correcting courtesies the entire time.

"Is it urgent, Captain?" She asked crisply.

"No, Milady."

"Good. Then, first things first. I'm not a lady. I wasn't raised as one, don't act like one, don't expect to be treated like one. And I certainly don't want to be called one. It's Arya."

"But—"

"No. It's just Arya. Tell the crew that. No Milady. No Lady Arya. Lady Stark. Lady Baratheon. It's just Arya. Trust me, I'm no better than any one of you. I can promise you that. Arya. I'm just Arya."

He nodded. "Understood, Mi—Arya."

She smiled. "Now, what was it you wanted?"

"You wanted to meet the crew. Right now, we're getting things in order, but if you want to see how things are done—"

"No, I don't want to get in the way. You come to me when it's a good time."

"Thank you," he paused, and then, "Arya."

The captain left and she looked back out to the ocean, taking a deep breath, inhaling the sea air. This was going to be good. She could feel it in her bones. A crewmember whose name she hadn't caught yet moved past her and almost knocked her overboard. He started to curse her, but then caught himself, blushing red and stammered an apology when he realized who she was. Arya waved him off and realized she was in the way while the crew was trying to do whatever they needed to do.

Heading belowdecks, she stepped into her private cabin. Gendry lay sprawled naked on the bed, the sheets tangled around his hips and legs. He groaned and stretched, his arms rising above his head.

"You missed the ship's departure." She told him tartly.

He sent her a wolfish grin. "You wore me out. I was tired."

"No, you had too much drink with Tyrion Lannister and Ser Podrick last night."

"Was that it?" Gendry put his hand to his head and opened his eyes half-way, wincing at the light coming through the porthole. "Aye, that might have been it. Still, that was some dream then." He grinned at her.

Arya removed her belt and carefully laid her dagger and sword down on the desk bolted to the floor. "Do you want to get dressed and come above deck now?" She removed her capelet and slipped off her boots. Untying the laces of her jerkin, she raised a brow in his direction. Even before she had begun the process of baring her body, she had known what his response was going to be. But it was a pleasure to watch the dawning realization come across his face that she was indeed choosing to lie with him. Eventually, Gendry would understand that she would always and only choose him, but for now it was still a wonder.

He sat up and pushed the sheet onto the floor, rising to his knees. "I think I'd rather stay here and make that dream come true."

Arya finished undressing and moved to the edge of the bed. She reached out and took him in hand; he was already starting to harden. "And what exactly happened in your dream?"

He closed his eyes. "Yeah, something like that." She stroked him a few times and then leaned forward, placing one knee on the bed. Gendry groaned when she took him in her mouth, one hand on his hip, the other stroking harder with every pull as she sucked him deeper and deeper. "Arya, Arya, fuck." He thrust against her and she held on and then pulled away to catch her breath.

"Lay down," she told him huskily.

He did as he was told.

Crawling onto the bed and over him, she knelt before him, taking his rock-hard cock into her mouth once more, she continued licking and sucking at his shaft while he moaned and cried her name, ready to burst. She sat up and stroked him up and down as she leaned over to kiss him, his hands tangling in her hair, he flipped her over and had her legs spread.

"Yes, yes, Gendry. Fuck me."

He rubbed his cock against her, but didn't enter, just teasing. She cried out as he palmed her breasts, his lips finding a pulse point in her throat and sucking before trailing up her neck to find her lips.

"I love you," he whispered against her mouth, his voice husky with emotion. She kissed him, her lips parting, her tongue dancing with his. Arya reached between their bodies and grasped his cock, stroking fast and then slow, her thumb and forefinger dancing on the head just the way he liked. He jerked his hips against her, still teasing, both of them playing, delaying and the tension drove her near mad. Arya pushed his head to her tits; she knew how much he loved to play with them. She was right, as she stroked him, he squeezed and fondled one breast, rubbing her nipple between his fingers, while he licked, kissed, and sucked the other, releasing the pink tip with a wet pop. He grinned up at her, his bright blue eyes dark with lust.

It was too much. She needed him now. Arya wrapped her legs around his hips. "Fuck me, Gendry. Fuck me, fuck me, Gods, fuck me now." He shifted slightly above her, and he was there and ready. His cock slid inside her and fuck! It felt so good. He felt so fucking good. His hand moved from her breast and down to her cunt, rubbing against her as he pushed in and out, harder and faster and…

"Yes, yes! Fuck!" Her back arched off the bed and Gendry exploded inside her, his seed filling her up, hot and sticky. Her body went limp and Gendry rolled off her. Arya let out a heavy exhalation, feeling completely satiated. 'Not today' she had told death so many times, but after getting fucked by Gendry she swore she could die with a smile on her face.

He let out a happy sigh and Arya curled up next to him. She couldn't help but think of how right this was, how all of those silly songs that Sansa loved were true after all. Love was real and some things were meant to be. "Oh." _It was meant to be,_ she thought. Arya sat up and looked down at Gendry, "I didn't tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"It was my father who wanted you out of King's Landing, it had nothing to do with Tobho Mott wanting to get rid of you. Bran told me the day of the wedding. He said that you were going to Winterfell." She laid down on his chest, her hands folded under her chin as she looked at him. "You weren't going to the Wall, Gendry. You were always supposed to go to Winterfell."

His eyes widened and he smiled. "I guess we both took the long road." He shook his head in wonder. "How… why?"

"My father. After he met you, he figured out you were Robert's son. He knew what a crazy cunt Cersei was so he wanted to protect you. Bran told me he asked Varys to get you out of the capital, get you to Winterfell. Yoren was taking both of us there."

"He never said anything to me." Gendry shook his head.

Arya sat up again and shrugged. "He probably didn't know that you would keep that to yourself." She stretched and then laid back down, curling beside him. "None of that matters now, I suppose, it's just..." she sighed. "Knowing that father—" She broke off, trying to put into words her thoughts. 

"What is it?" Gendry prodded.

"I think, you and me, us, it's what he would have wanted." Gendry at that moment ran a hand over her breast, his finger brushing her nipple and bringing the tip to a hard point. "Though, I'm sure he wasn't thinking of you in my bed," she added as her breath caught. Gendry laughed and rolled on top of her, his mouth finding hers before trailing down her throat, taking both tits in hand, his lips and tongue worshiping them once more. Arya arched her back, sighing in pleasure. 

With a final kiss of each nipple, Gendry laid his head gently on her chest, and wrapped his arms around her waist. "You really think he'd be happy even though I'm a bastard?"

"You're not a bastard anymore."

"But then I was. Had things gone according to his plan, I still would have been," he pointed out.

Arya thought about it. "I don't think he cared about that." She paused, thinking some more, "but my mother did." She gave a quick shake of her head. "Father would have just made King Robert legitimize you for her sake." Smiling at Gendry, she reached down and ran a hand over his short, black hair. "I do think he would have been happy about this. About you and me. He did love your father like a brother." Gendry twisted slightly so that he could look up at her. "He was family to him."

Echoes of so long ago, a dark cave lit only by the fires of a makeshift forge filled her mind. Arya remembered Gendry telling her that he was going to stay with the Brotherhood and leave her behind. Even now, she remembered the breaking of her heart, losing someone else that she cared for, someone that she loved. " _I can be your family_ ," she had said to him all those years ago. He had shook his head, denying her.

And now...

Arya looked at him, her eyes clear, stating the fact because it was not a question any longer. "And I am your family now."

Gazing at her as he always did with all the love his heart could hold, he nodded, but words were not enough it seemed because with a breathless rush, a smile lighting his face, he affirmed their truth.

"Yes."   
  
**~ THE END ~**  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this, 99% of this was taken from a much larger fic I am writing: [Dream of Spring](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332419). Arya and Gendry are not the only characters, but they are the main characters, and I am doing A LOT more with their story (as well as others) following the events of _Game of Thrones_.


End file.
